The Talk
by dracosoftie
Summary: Sequel to All That Matters in the Birthday Gift story arc. Draco decides it's time for Harry to talk to Leo about sex, with unexpected consequences. H/D. Warnings for slash, language and explicit sexual content.


***

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

For Bets, who likes this series so much that she landed herself in surgery _again_ just to get another installment. Sorry it's so late, dearest. I love you and all of your organs, so let's try not to have any more removed, m'kay?

This lovely little PWP follows the Birthday Gift story arc and falls into place after All that Matters. Many thanks to FaeryQueen07, aka my Horcrux, who prodded my delinquent muse until she got irritated and let me write again.

***

"I think it's time you had a talk with Leo," Draco said, handing Harry a large platter to dry. They were in the kitchen, cleaning up after Sunday dinner with the Weasleys.

"I talk to Leo every day," Harry said distractedly, squinting at a spot on the dish before drying it with a dishcloth that had a permanent EverDry charm on it. He'd heard a few years ago that Muggles were using these, too, after a shipment of the dishcloths went missing and turned up on Muggle shelves, marketed as something called ShamWow.

He winced at Draco's heavy sigh, setting the now-dried dish aside and giving him his full attention.

"_The _talk," Draco said, giving Harry a significant look that was totally lost on him.

"Sex, Potter!" he snapped, lowering his voice when he remembered the dining room was still full of Weasleys. Harry's eyes widened as the word sunk in.

"He's too young for that!" Harry protested, looking faintly green at the prospect of having TheTalk. He remembered his own bumbled Talk with Uncle Vernon, the gist of which had been he was to keep his willy in his pants lest he force another mouth to feed on the family. It had left him even more uncomfortable in the hulking man's presence than normal; he still had some lingering suspicions that hearing his uncle stutter over phrases like "lady parts" was at least partially responsible for his preference for men.

Draco gave him a wry look, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the sink full of soapy water. Cleaning Charms would have worked just as well, but he'd long ago gotten used to the fact that Harry preferred to do many things the Muggle way.

"Well, he is," Harry said weakly, leaning heavily against the counter. Now that he thought about it, though, he could pinpoint at least half a dozen times in the last year or so that Leo had asked him something vaguely related to sex. Maybe Draco was right.

"He's almost nine," Draco said, the stricken look on Harry's face making him unconsciously gentle his voice.

"He's hardly more than a baby," Harry muttered, but the token protest didn't fool either of them.

Draco turned back toward him, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and pulling him close. Harry could feel his hands, still damp from the dishwater, stroking a soothing pattern against his back.

"Wouldn't you rather he hears it from you than from some degenerate in his dorm room at Hogwarts?" Draco murmured softly, his breath warm against Harry's ear.

Harry laughed, the tight knot that had settled in his chest easing somewhat. Despite having The Talk with his uncle at age ten, he'd been woefully ignorant of the mechanics of sex until a particularly enlightening discussion with Seamus Finnigan in second year.

"Wait, don't you mean he should hear it from _us_?" he asked, pulling back and narrowing his eyes as he studied Draco.

"No. No way," Harry sputtered, shoving Draco's hands away. "He's _our_ son, we should do this together."

Draco looked away, fidgeting slightly. It was enough to catch Harry's attention, because Draco _never_ fidgeted.

"He'll have questions about his own birth," Draco said quietly, turning back toward the dishes. "I can't answer them. I wasn't there. I'd rather not have to watch as our son realizes his father is such a heartless bastard."

Harry made a sympathetic sound, resting his head against Draco's shoulder. The blond stiffened when he felt Harry shaking against him, his worry that he'd overdone his guilt trip melting away into consternation as he turned his head and saw Harry's barely stifled laughter.

"I'd have thought you could do better than that," Harry said, shaking his head. "You're losing your Slytherin touch. I _almost_ believed you, though."

"I liked you better when you were more gullible, Potter," he sniped, his lips twisting into a reluctant grin.

"Can't say the same," Harry teased, pressing a kiss to Draco's nose. He sighed at the real apprehension he saw in the grey eyes, feeling himself caving despite the botched attempt at manipulation. "Fine. I'll do it."

Draco beamed.

"And you said I was losing my touch," he smirked, winking at Harry before plunging his hands back into the cooling dishwater to finish the job.

***

Harry sat back, watching as the silvery liquid danced around the stone basin with an almost otherworldly glow. It felt strange, having all of his memories of sex with Draco banished from his mind, but it definitely made it easier to wrap his brain around having The Talk with Leo.

He'd taken the suggestion to offload any memories that might embarrass him into the Pensieve from the surprisingly helpful book Molly had lent him. She had pressed the tattered copy of _Talking to Your Kids About Sex: What Every Witch and Wizard Should Know_ into his hands last Sunday, and at first he'd been mortified to realize that she'd overheard his discussion with Draco. But after reading the book, he was grateful – without it, he'd have had no idea how to broach the subject, let alone how to do it without emotionally traumatizing both himself and Leo.

The book had stressed the importance of maintaining his cool during The Talk, which would have been nearly impossible without help from the Pensieve. How could he have not stumbled over his words when merely _thinking_ the word erection gave him one, since it conjured images of Draco's beautiful cock? He grinned as he practically sang the word in his mind now, giddy with relief since that particular part of his anatomy remained uninterested, thanks to the fact that he now had no memory of what Draco's actually looked like.

Bolstered by his newfound confidence, Harry tucked the Pensieve away, placing it on top of their wardrobe where no curious children could reach it. He'd replace the memories as soon as they were done with The Talk, but he wasn't taking any chances about it falling into the wrong hands.

***

Draco looked up as Harry practically skipped into the study, a huge grin on his face.

"It went well, I take it?"

"Brilliantly," Harry said, eyes dancing as he perched on the corner of Draco's desk.

"So removing the memories worked?" he asked, leaning forward curiously. It had sounded ridiculous when Harry had first told him about the book's suggestion, but after giving it a bit of thought he'd come to see its merit.

Harry nodded, but the slightly mischievous smirk on his face gave Draco pause. They'd originally thought it might be fun to take advantage of the situation by having sex before Harry replaced the memories, making it almost like their first time all over again, since Harry would have no memory of what Draco liked or what sex was like together. They'd decided not to, though, because what fun would that be? They knew each other's bodies so well that sex was easy and efficient – hardly a romantic way to think of it, but comforting all the same. Draco had argued that sex without Harry's memories wouldn't be nearly as fulfilling, and Harry had agreed. It had been a surprisingly Hufflepuffian sentiment from the Slytherin, and one that he half-wished he could have taken back the moment it sprang from his mouth.

"So, I found a spell," Harry practically purred, his arousal unmistakable as he bridged the gap between them and hooked a leg around Draco's chair.

"Oh?" Draco arched an eyebrow, his own heartbeat quickening at the way Harry's green eyes were sparkling.

"Come see," Harry said with a wicked grin, hopping off the desk and bounding out to the living room. Draco followed, stopping short when he saw the furniture had been re-arranged so the sofa faced the wall, which had been divested of its paintings and was now bare. An end table had been moved to the center of the room, the small stone Pensieve Harry had used earlier resting atop it.

He watched as Harry moved toward the basin and tapped it with his wand, murmuring an unfamiliar spell before propping the slim piece of holly against it and pointing it toward the wall. A small gasp escaped his lips as the wand began projecting images onto the blank space.

"Merlin," he whispered, feeling himself go instantly hard at the sight before him. Had they ever really been that young? His watched the scene play out, his eyes glued to the larger-than-life version of himself propositioning Harry in the smoky club nearly a decade ago.

"Gorgeous," Harry whispered in his ear, startling him. He hadn't heard the other man approach, captivated by the Pensieve memory. "Then and now."

Draco leaned into Harry's embrace, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. As he watched as the memory versions of themselves stumble down the dark corridor in search of the club's restroom, though, a thought speared through him that brought his arousal crashing to a halt.

"Harry," he said urgently, pushing the dark-haired man away and looking toward the door. "The kids –"

"Spending the night with Grandma Molly," Harry said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "And before you can ask: The Floo is locked. The wards are up. And you, Draco Malfoy, are mine and mine alone until morning."

Draco lunged forward, desperate to kiss the rakish grin off Harry's face. He wasn't surprised to note that neither of them had closed their eyes, both watching the Pensieve memory unfold.

"Potter's a magic whore. Who would have guessed?" Draco heard himself say. He broke off the kiss, turning his full attention to the memory. He smirked when Harry shivered beside him, apparently just as turned on by watching his own reaction to the magic as he had been to the magic itself.

"Who _would_ have guessed?" Draco murmured quietly, slipping his hand down Harry's torso and deftly unfastening his trousers and pushing them down, his eyes still fixed on the make-shift screen. Harry made a strangled sound as Draco's fingers wrapped around his erection, his harsh breathing mirroring the sounds from the memory.

"On the counter, Potter," Memory Draco snapped, and Harry nearly swallowed his tongue when Draco dropped to his knees in front of him. If there was anything hotter than watching the memory of Draco give him a blow job while Draco _actually_ gave him a blow job, Harry didn't know what it would be. Hell, if there was anything hotter than this, he doubted he'd be able to handle it.

"God, Draco," he moaned, fisting his hands in silky blond hair, his eyes sliding shut as he tried to stave off his release.

He didn't need to watch the memory to know what happened next; the Pensieve they were watching was full of duplicated memories, since he'd replaced the real ones as soon as he'd finished his talk with Leo. Apparently the memory of their first encounter was fresh in Draco's mind, too, because almost in unison with his memory self, Draco released Harry's cock from his mouth and trailed his tongue lower, sweeping it across his entrance.

It wasn't long before Harry's hands were on Draco's shoulders, urging him up so they could both undress completely. Draco nearly growled in frustration as he tried to free his feet from the legs of his trousers, clumsy with arousal, while simultaneously using his wand to cast preparation charms on Harry.

"Please," Harry groaned, desperate to have Draco inside him as they watched themselves on the make-shift screen.

Draco bent him over the sofa roughly, driving into him with one long, hard stroke, confident the spells had done their job and that he wouldn't be hurting Harry too badly. He was nearly overwhelmed as he thrust into the tight heat, listening to Harry's moans both in the memory and in real life.

"So fucking hot," he muttered, his lips pressed against the sweat-slicked skin of Harry's back, kissing and nipping at it as he drove into him.

Harry cried out, his body stiffening as he came, the friction of his erection against the suede fabric of the sofa too much to resist. Draco pumped his hips frantically, his fingers bruising Harry's hips as his grip tightened, spiraling toward his own orgasm.

He collapsed heavily against Harry as the last wave of pleasure ebbed, distantly aware that their heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The memory had ended, and the wall was dark once more.

"That was –"

"That was un-fucking-believable," Harry said reverently, his words somewhat muffled since his face was pressed into the fabric of the sofa.

Draco laughed, pulling out of him slowly and straightening, a bit chagrined to find that his legs were still wobbly.

"I can't believe we did that," he said, nodding toward the Pensieve bowl.

"Can't believe we did what?" Harry asked, pushing up from the sofa and stretching. "Had sex in a public toilet or got off watching ourselves having sex in a public toilet?"

"Either," Draco said with a grin, stepping forward and capturing Harry's mouth in a sweet, slow kiss. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Harry murmured, his hand coming up to twine through Draco's hair, keeping him close. "Want to go up to the bedroom and watch another?"

Draco chuckled, heat flaring in his grey eyes.

"Absolutely," he said, Summoning both the Pensieve and Harry's wand with his own and heading toward the stairs as Harry gathered the clothing they'd strewn around the room.

***

"I can't believe no one's ever thought of this before," Hermione said, staring at the Pensieve in the middle of the sitting room with a look of wonder.

"I told him he could make a killing on it if he marketed it," Draco said, nudging Harry with his elbow when the dark-haired wizard blushed.

"It wouldn't be ethical," Harry said, frowning at Draco. "I mean, we don't own the rights to those films. We shouldn't make money off of them."

Hermione nodded, and Draco suppressed a sound of disgust at their abject Gryffindorishness. He'd gotten used to it over the years, but that didn't mean he liked it.

"We could sell Pensieves that are specially modified for this, though," George said, a thoughtful look on his face. They were all gathered in Harry and Draco's sitting room for something Harry and Hermione were calling 'family film night'. Tonight they'd be watching a film Hermione's memories of a film saw a few years earlier in a Muggle theater.

"I'm sure you could get the studios to release Pensieve memories of their films," Bill said, looking up from his current task of separating several fighting cousins. "Most of the studio executives are wizards, anyway."

"Are they really?" Hermione asked, a look of skepticism on her face.

"Do you really think Steven Spielberg is a _Muggle_, Hermione?" Ginny asked, her brows raised in challenge.

Harry laughed at both of them, rolling his eyes as he made his way back to the kitchen to grab the last of the snacks. They'd all had dinner not two hours ago, but Hermione had insisted that no family film night was complete without bowls of buttery popcorn. He wouldn't know himself, having been sent to his cupboard whenever the Dursleys had their film nights, so who was he to argue?

He could hear Molly calling up the stairs to the rest of the children, gathering everyone in the sitting room so the film could begin. It still amazed him that this was his family, by choice if not by blood. The warm feeling dissipated, however, when he heard the unmistakable sound of himself moaning, followed by a few beats of stark silence and then uproarious laughter.

"Oh shit," Draco mouthed, grey eyes going wide as they realized they'd never emptied the Pensieve after the last time they'd used it.

*End*


End file.
